I Tried Meal Prepping and Accidentally Became a Middle Manager From Ohio

I started meal prepping because I thought it would make me feel like a guy who has his life together. You know the type: glass containers lined up in the fridge like an edible filing system. A man who doesn’t just own turmeric, but uses it. A man who probably does a light mobility warm-up before putting on his socks.

Instead, I spent most of the week feeling like I was managing a sad little catering operation out of my own kitchen. Everything smelled vaguely of broccoli and compromise. By Thursday, I was one spreadsheet away from turning into a regional sales director named Gary.

The Promise

Meal prepping, I was told, would save time, money, and energy. I would be free from last-minute takeout panic. I’d have fuel, not just food. I’d finally unlock that part of myself that alphabetizes his vitamins and thrives on systems.

So I made a plan. Chicken, rice, and roasted vegetables. Not exciting, but noble. Functional. The food equivalent of a sensible Honda. I cooked it all on Sunday, loaded it into identical containers, and stacked them in my fridge like the world’s saddest Jenga tower.

That first day, I felt accomplished. I had harnessed order. I was the kind of man who took care of future me.

By day three, future me was pissed.

The Vibe Shift

There’s something strange that happens when you eat the exact same lunch four days in a row. You stop tasting it. You start resenting it. You begin to suspect that your food might be gaslighting you.

By Wednesday, I was eating out of obligation. Not hunger. Not pleasure. Just momentum. Like I was halfway through a middle-management career I didn’t choose but couldn’t escape. Every lunch felt like a quarterly report I had to get through.

The flavors blurred. The texture turned against me. The roasted broccoli had developed what I can only describe as a grudge.

The Identity Crisis

Meal prepping changed how I moved through the world. I started walking faster. I was early to things. I said “circling back” in an actual conversation. At one point, I caught myself nodding along to a podcast about optimizing morning routines. I don’t even have a morning routine. Most mornings, I wake up confused and angry at sunlight.

It wasn’t just the food. It was the lifestyle. The system. The creeping sense that I was becoming one of those guys who travels with protein powder and uses the word “workflow” in casual texts.

The Moment of Reckoning

On Friday, I snapped. I threw out the final container and went to Chipotle for lunch. It was rice and beans and beef, and maybe the best thing I’ve eaten all year. I felt like I had broken out of a very organized prison.

That night, I didn’t meal prep. I didn’t even clean the kitchen. I just let the fridge sit there. Empty. Free. Full of possibility.

So Is Meal Prepping Worth It?

Sure. If you like control. If your soul runs on charts. If you want to eat the same food every day until your body forgets joy.

But if you’re someone who believes lunch should sometimes surprise you, or that dinner is allowed to have a personality, then maybe skip the stackable containers.

Because food isn’t just fuel. It’s one of the few things that still feels human. And sometimes the most nourishing thing you can do is admit that future you might need a little chaos.